Buddenbrooks (16 page)

With affectionate regards,

YOUR FATHER.

BUDDENBRD DKS

October B, 1846

DEAR AND HONOURED PARENTS,

The undersigned is overjoyed to be able to advise you D\ the happy accouchement, half an hour ago, of your daughter, my beloved wife Antunie. It is, by God's will, a daughter; I can find no words to express my joyful emotion. The health of the dear patient, as well as of the infant, is unexception-able. Dr. Klaaserj is entirely satisfied with the way things have gone; and Frau Grossgeorgis, the midwife, says it was simply nothing at all. Excitement obliges me to lay down my pen. I commend myself to my worthy parents with the most respectful affection. B. GRUNLICH. If it had been a boy, I had a very pretty name. As it is, I wanted to name her Met a, but Gr� is for Erica.

CHAPTER II

"WHAT is the matter, Betsy?" said the Consul, as he came to the table and lifted up the plate with which his soup was covered. "Aren't you well? You don't look just right to me." The round table in the great dining-room was grown very small. Around it there gathered in these days, besides the parents, only little Clara, npw ten years old, Mamsell Jung-mann, and Clothilde, as humble, lean, and hungry as ever. The Consul looked about him: every face was long and gloomy. What had happened? He himself was troubled and anxious; for the Bourse was unsteady, owing to this complicated Schleswig-Holstein affair. And still another source of dis-quiet was in the air; when Anton had gone to fetch in the meat course, the Consul heard what had happened. Trina, the cook, who had never before been anything but loyal and dutiful to her mistress, had suddenly shown clear signs of revolt. To the Frau Consul's great vexation, she had been maintaining relations--a sort of spiritual affinity, it seemed--with the butcher's apprentice; and that man of blood must have influenced her political views in a most regrettable way. The Consul's wife had addressed some reproach to her in the matter of an unsuccessful sauce, and she had put her naked arms akimbo and delivered herself as follows: "You jus' wait, Frau Consul; 'tain1 goin' t' be much longer--there'll come another order inter the world. 'N' then I'll be sittin' on the sofa in a silk gownd, an' you'll be servin' me." Natu-rally, she received summary notice. The Consul shook his head. He himself had had similar troubles. The old porters and labourers were of course re-179 spectful enough, and had no notions in their heads; but sev-eral here and there among the young ones had shown by their bearing that the new spirit of revolt had entered into them. In the spring there had been a street riot, although a con-stitution corresponding to the demands of the new time had already been drafted; which, a little later, despite the opposition of Lebrecht Kroger and other stubborn old gentlemen, be-came law by a decree of the Senate. The citizens met to-gether and representatives of the people were elected. But there was no rest. The world was upside down. Every one wanted to revise the constitution and the franchise, and the citizens grumbled. "Voting by estates," said some--Consul Johann Buddenbrook among them. "Universal franchise," said the others; Heinrich Hagenstrb'm was one of these .5till others cried "Universal voting by estates"--and dear knew what they meant by that! All sorts of ideas were in the air; for instance, the abolition of disabilities and the general ex-tension of the rights of citizenship--even to non-Christians! No wonder Buddenbrook's Trina had imbibed such ideas about sofas and silk gowns! Oh, there was worse to come! Things threatened to take a fearful turn. It was an early [Jctober day of the year 1848. The sky was blue, with a few light floating clouds in it, silvered by the rays of the sun, the strength of which was indeed not so great but that the stove was already going, behind the polished screen in the landscape-room. Little Clara, whose hair had grown darker and whose eyes had a rather severe expression, sat with some embroidery before the sewing-table, while Clothilde, busy likewise with her needlework, had the sofa-place near the Frau Consul. Although Clothilde Buddenbrook was not much older than her married cousin--that is to say, only twenty-one years--her long face already showed pronounced lines; and with her smooth hair, which had never been blond, but always a dull greyish colour, she presented an ideal portrait of a typical old maid. But she was con- tent; she did nothing to alter her condition. Perhaps she thought it best to grow old early and thus to make a quick end of all doubts and hopes. As she did not own a single sou, she knew that she would find nobody in all the wide world to marry her, and she looked with humility into her future, which would surely consist of consuming a tiny in-come in some tiny room which her influential uncle would procure for her out of the funds of some charitable establishment for maidens of good family. The Consul's wife was busy reading two letters. Tony related the good progress of the little Erica, and Christian wrote eagerly of his life and doings in London. He did not give any details of his industry with Mr. Richardson of Threadneedle Street. The Frau Consul, who was approaching the middle forties, complained bitterly of the tendency of blond women to grow old too soon. The delicate tint which corresponded to her reddish hair had grown dulled despite all cosmetics; and the hair itself began relentlessly to grey, or would have done so but for a Parisian tincture of which the Frau Consul had the receipt. She was determined never to grow white. When the dye would no longer perform its office, she would wear a blond wig. On top of her still artistic coiffure was a silk scarf bordered with white lace, the beginning, the first adumbration of a cap. Her silk frock was wide and flowing, its bell-shaped sleeves lined with the softest mull. A pair of gold circlets tinkled as usual on her wrist. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. Suddenly there was a noise of running and shouting: a sort of insolent, hooting and cat-calling, the stamping of feet on the pavement, a hub-bub that grew louder and came nearer. "What is that noise, Mamma?" said Clara, looking out of the window and into the gossip's glass. "Look at the people! What is the matter with them? What are they so pleased about?"

1B1

"My God!" shouted the Frau Consul, throwing down her letters and springing ID the window. "Is it--? My God, it is the Revolution! It is the people!" The truth was that the town had been the whole day in a state of unrest. In the morning the windows of Benthien the draper's shop in Broad Street had been broken by stones--although God knew what the owner had to do with politics! "Anton," the Consul's wife called with a trembling voice into the dining-room, where the servants were bustling about with the silver. "Anton! Go below! Shut the outside doors. Make everything fast. It is a mob." "Oh, Frau Consul," said Anton. "Is it safe for me to do that? I am a servant. If they see my livery--" "What wicked people," Clothilde drawled without putting down her work. Just then the Consul crossed the entrance hall and came in through the glass door. He carried his coat over his arm and his hat in his hand. "You are going out, Jean?" asked the Frau Consul in great excitement and trepidation. "Yes, my dear, I must go to the meeting." "But the mob, Jean, the Revolution--" "Oh, dear me, Betsy, it isn't so serious as that! We are in God's hand. They have gone past the house already. I'll go down the back way." "Jean, if you love me--do you want to expose yourself to this danger? Will you leave us here unprotected? I am afraid, I tell you--I am afraid." "My dear, I beg of you, don't work yourself up like this. They will only make a bit of a row in front of the Town Hall or in the market. It may cost the government a few window-panes--but that's all." "Where are you going, Jean?" "To the Assembly. I am late already. I was detained by business. It would be a shame not to be there to-day. Do you think your Father is stopping away, old as he is?" 'Then go, in God's name, Jean. But be careful, I beg of you. And keep an eye on my Father. If anything hit him--'" "Certainly, my dear." "When will you be back?" the Frau Consul called after him. "Well, about half past four or five o'clock. Depends. There is a good deal of importance on the agenda, so I can't exactly tell." "Oh, I'm frightened, I'm frightened," repeated the Frau Consul, walking up and down restlessly.

CHAPTER III

CONSUL BUDDENBROOK crossed his spacious ground floor in haste. Coming out into Bakers' Alley, he heard steps behind him and saw Cosch the broker, a picturesque figure in his long cloak and Jesuit hat, also climbing the narrow street to the meeting. He lifted his hat with one thin long hand, and with the other made a deferential gesture, as he said, "Well, Herr Consul--how are you?" His voice sounded sinister. This broker, Siegismund Gosch, a bachelor of some forty years, was, despite his demeanour, the best and most honest soul in the world; but he was a wit and an oddity. His smooth-shaven face was distinguished by a Roman nose, a protruding pointed chin, sharp features, and a wide mouth drooping at the corners, whose narrow lips he was in the habit of pressing together in the most taciturn and forbidding manner. His grey hair fell thick and sombre over his brow, and he actually regretted not being humpbacked. It was his whim to assume the role of a wild, witty, and reckless in-trigant--a cross between Mephistopheles and Napoleon, something very malevolent and yet fascinating too; and he was not entirely unsuccessful in his pose. He was a strange yet attractive figure among the citizens of the old city; still, he belonged among them, for he carried on a small brokerage business in the most modest, respectable sort of way. In his narrow, dark little office, however, he had a large book-case filled with poetry in every language, and there was a story that he had been engaged since his twentieth year on a translation of Lope de Vega's collected dramas. once he had played the role of Domingo in an amateur performance of Schiller's "Don Carlos"--this was the culmination of his career. A common word never crossed his lips; and the most ordinary business expressions he would hiss between his clenched teeth, as if he were saying "Curses on you, villain," instead of some commonplace about stocks, and commissions. He was, in many ways, the heir and succes-sor to Jean Jacques Hoffstede of blessed memory, except that his character had certain elements of the sombre and pathetic, with none of the playful liveliness of that old IBth century friend of Johann Buddenbrook. One day he lost at a single blow, on the Bourse, six and a half thaler on two or three papers which he had bought as a speculation. This was enough. He sank upon a bench; he struck an attitude which looked as though he had lost the Battle of Waterloo; he struck his clenched fist against his forehead and repeated several times, with a blasphemous roll of the eyes: "Ha, accursed, accursed!" He must have been, at bottom, cruelly bored by the small, safe business he did and the petty trans-fer of this or that bit of property; for this loss, this tragic blow with which Heaven had stricken him down--him, the schemer Cosch--delighted his inmost soul. He fed on it for weeks. Some one would say, "So you've had a loss, Herr Gosch, I'm sorry to hear." To which he would answer: "Oh, my good friend, 'uomo non educate dal dolore riman sempre bambino'!" Probably nobody understood that. Was it, possibly, Lope da Vega? Anyhow, there was no doubt that this Siegismund Gosch was a remarkable and learned man. "What times we live in," he said, limping up the street with the Consul, supported by his stick. "Times of storm and unrest." "You are right," replied the Consul. "The times are un-quiet. This morning's sitting will be exciting. The principle of the estates--" "Well, now," Herr Gosch went on, "I have been about all day in the streets, and I have been looking at the mob. There are some fine fellows in it, their eyes flaming with excitement and hatred--" Johann Buddenbrook began to laugh. "You like that, don't you? But you have the right end of it after all, let me tell you. It is all childishness! What do these men want? A lot of uneducated rowdies who see a chance for a bit of a scrimmage." "Of course, Though I can't deny--I was in the crowd when Berkemeyer, the journeyman butcher, smashed Herr Benlhien's window. He was like a panther." Herr Gosch spoke the last word with his teeth particularly close to-gether, and went on: "Oh, the thing has its fine side, that's certain. It is a change, at least, you know; something that doesn't happen every day. Storm, stress, violence--the tem-pest! Oh, the people are ignorant, I know--still, my heart, this heart of mine--it beats with theirs!" They were al-ready before the simple yellow-painted house on the ground floor of which the sittings of the Assembly took place. The room belonged to the beer-hall and danceestablishment of a widow named Suerkringel; but on certain days it was at the service of the gentlemen burgesses. The entrance was through a narrow whitewashed corridor opening into the restaurant on the right side, where it smelled of beer and cooking, and thence through a handleless, lockless green door so small and narrow that no one could have supposed such a large room lay behind it. The room was empty, cold, and barnlik?, with a whitewashed roof in which the beams showed, and whitewashed walls. The three rather high windows had green-painted bars, but no curtains. Opposite them were the benches, rising in rows like an amphitheatre, with a table at the bottom for the chairman, the recording clerk, and the Committee of the Senate. It was covered with a green cloth and had a clock, documents, and writing-materials on it. On the wall opposite the door were several tall hat-racks with hats and coats. The sound of voices met the Consul and his companion a3 they entered through the narrow door. They were the last to come. The room was filled with burgesses, hands in their trousers pockets, on their hips, or in the air, as they stood together in groups and discussed. Of the hundred and thirty members of the body at least a hundred were present. A number of delegates from the country districts had been obliged by circumstances to stop at home. Near the entrance stood a group composed of two or three small business men, a high-school teacher, the orphan asylum "father," Herr Mindermann, and Herr Wenzel, the popular barber. Herr Wenzel, a powerful little man with a black moustache, an intelligent face, and red hands, had shaved the Consul that very morning; here, however, he stood on an equality with him. He shaved only in the best circles; he shaved almost exclusively the Mull endorpfs, Langhals, Bud-denbrooks, and Overdiecks, and he owed his vote in the As-sembly to his omniscience in city affairs, his sociability and ease, and his remarkable power of decision at a division. "Have you heard the latest, Herr Consul?" he asked with round-eyed eagerness as his patron came up. "What is there to hear, my dear Wenzel?" "Nobody knew it this morning. Well, permit me to tell you, Herr Consul, the latest is that the crowd are not going to collect before the Town Hall, or in the market--they are coming here to threaten the burgesses. Editor Riibsam has stirred them up." "Is it possible?" said the Consul. He pressed through the various groups to the middle of the room, where he saw his father-in-law with Senators Dr. Langhals and James Mbllen-dorpf. "Is it true, gentlemen?" he asked, shaking hands with them. But there was no need to answer. The whole assemblage was full of it: the peace-breakers were coming; they could be heard already in the distance. "Canaille!" said Lebrecht Kroger with cold scorn. He had driven hither in his carriage. On an ordinary day the tall, distinguished figure of the once famous cavalier showed the burden of his eighty years; but to-day he stood quite erect 187 BUDDENBRDDK5 with his eyes half closed, the corners of his mouth contemp-tuously drawn down, and the points of his white moustaches sticking straight up. Two rows of jewelled buttons sparkled on his black velvet waistcoat. Not far from this group was Hinrich Hagenstrom, a square-built, fleshy man with a reddish beard sprinkled with grey, a heavy watch-chain across his blue-checked waistcoat, and his coat open over it. He was standing with his partner Herr Strunck, and did not greet the Consul. Herr Benthien, the draper, a prosperous looking man, had a large group of gentlemen around him, to whom he wad circumstantially describing what had happened to his show-window. "A brick, gentlemen, a brick, or at least half a brick--crack! through it went and landed on a roll Df green rep. The rascally mob! Oh, the Government will have to take it up! It's their affair!" And in every corner of the room unceasingly resounded the voice of Herr Stuht from Bell-Founders' Street. He had on a black coat over his woollen shirt; and he so deeply sympathized with the narrative of Herr Benthien that he never stopped saying, in outraged accents, "Infamous, un-heard-of!" Johann Buddenbrook found and greeted his old friend G. F. Koppen, and then Kb'ppen's rival, Consul Kistenmaker. He moved about in the crowd, pressed Dr. Grabow's hand, and exchanged a few words with Herr Gieseke the Fire Commis-sioner, Contractor Voigt, Dr. Langhals, the. Chairman, brother of the Senator, and several merchants, lawyers, and teachers. The sitting was not yet opened, but debate was already lively. Everybody was cursing that pestilential scribbler, Edi-tor R� everybody knew he had stirred up the crowd--and what for? The business in hand was to decide whether they were to go on with the method of selecting representa-tives by estates, or whether there was to be universal and equal franchise. The Senate had already proposed the lat-ter. But what did the people want? They wanted these gentlemen by the throats--no more and no less. It was the worst hole they had ever found themselves in, devil take it! The Senatorial Committee was surrounded, its members' opinion eagerly sought. They approached Consul Buddenbrook, as one who should know the attitude of Burgomaster Over-dieck; for since Senator Doctor Overdieck, Consul Justus Kroger's brother-in-law, had been made President last year, the Buddenbrooks were related to the Burgomaster; which had distinctly enhanced the regard in which they were held. All of a sudden the tumult began outside. Revolution had arrived under the windows of the Sitting. The excited ex-change of opinions inside ceased simultaneously. Every man, dumb with the shock, folded his hands upon his stomach and looked at his fellows or at the windows, where fists were being shaken in the air and the crowd was giving vent to deafening and frantic yelling. But then, most astonishingly, as though the offenders themselves had suddenly grown aghast at their own behaviour, it became just as still outside as in the hall; and in that deep hush, one word from the neigh-bourhood of the lowest benches, where Lebrecht Kroger was sitting, was distinctly audible. It rang through the hall, cold, emphatic, and deliberate--the word "Canaille!" And, like an echo, came the word "Infamous," in a fat, outraged voice from the other corner of the hall. Then the hurried, trembling, whispering utterance of the draper Benthien: "Gentlemen, gentlemen! Listen! I know the house. There is a trap door on to the roof from the attic. I used to shoot cats through it when I was a lad. We can climb on to the next roof and get down safely." "Cowardice," hissed Gosch the broker between his teeth. He leaned against the table with his arms folded and head bent, directing a blood-curdling glance through the window. "Cowardice, do you say? How cowardice? In God's name, sir, aren't they throwing bricks? I've had enough of that." The noise outside had begun again, but without reaching its former stormy height. It sounded quieter and more continu-189 ous, a prolonged, patient, almost comfortable hum, rising and falling; now and then one heard whistles, and sometimes single words like "principle" and "rights of citizens." The assembly listened respectfully. After a while the chairman, Herr Dr. Langhals, spoke in a subdued tone: "Gentlemen, I think we could come to some agreement if we opened the meeting." But this humble suggestion did not meet with the slightest support from anybody. "No good in that," somebody said, with a simple decisiveness that permitted no appeal. It was a peasant sort of man, named Pfahl, from the Ritzerau district, deputy for the vil-lage of Little Schretstaken. Nobody remembered ever to have heard his voice raised before in a meeting, but its very simplicity made it weighty at the present crisis. Unafraid and with sure political insight, Herr Pfahl had voiced the feeling of the entire assemblage. "God keep us," Herr Benthien said despondently. "If we sit on the benches we can be seen from outside. They're throwing stones--I've had enough of that." "And the cursed door is so narrow," burst out Kbppen the wine-merchant, in despair. "If we start to go out, we'll prob-ably get crushed." "Infamous, un-heard-of," Herr Stuht intoned. "Gentlemen," began the Chairman urgently once more. "I have to put before the Burgomaster, in the next three days a draft of to-day's protocol, and the town expects its publication through the press. I should at least like to get a vote on that subject, if the sitting would come to order--" But with the exception of a few citizens who supported the chairman, nobody seemed ready to come to the consideration of the agenda. A vote would have been useless anyhow--they must not irritate the people. Nobody knew what they wanted, so it was no good to offend them by a vote, in whatever direction. They must wait and control themselves. The clock of St. Mary's struck half past four.